closed — @teatwosugars
HE HAD SEEN BUDDY in dreams that moved like syrup and blossomed like splitting wounds. yep, buddy was there in the lines of finn’s knuckles after all this time, like streams, like ribbon, only to be pulled and scraped off clean ready again for the night following, then the one after that, and after that — oh, and that wednesday afternoon, napping at mum’s, too. just passing through. that was a good one. it’s worse in that bedroom, you know? or maybe worse is the wrong word. it’s pleasant in the same way seeing someone you aren’t fond of getting decked clean in the mug; hey, shame we had to resort to violence but, can’t say i’m not recording the crack of your nose. and the form was great, too, nice straight wrist. it’s a great big mucky dream of how’d i get here? and buddy’s presence is violence posing as beauty, or maybe not, because he is beautiful, that’s true — finn thinks about the bridge of buddy’s nose sat on the bench in his prep room. not bad this time — towels, thank fuck, clean ones. oh, and a mini fridge. buddy’s nose is small like his hands, like his tolerance for the unextraordinary. like the time in between desperate meeting mouths, gateways for murmurs. what the fuck were they ever saying? finn can’t recall now — the fridge is leaking. it’s splattering on dull, imperfect, grey concrete. making it dark. looks like paint. the walls are brick painted white, big wide brick. buddy is pale and fine like a pearl. like the ones on that fucking horrid mermaid statue his ma had picked up on a cruise passing the cayman islands. finn looks up when the door creaks open and thinks, rude.
it ain’t rude for long. “hey, uh,” not his manager. it’s an older looking gentleman with a blue collared shirt. looks like a dad, like he shouldn’t be working here. finn wonders if he has kids. “..your boy’s back.” the man’s mouth opens like he had something more to say, but he only nods and leaves. probably wise. finn breathes out with the click of the door, allowing himself to slouch. so, he had seen him. he had been on edge since he won, since he stepped off, since he smiled quick and wet with sweat, and got out of there so fast. finn’s near numb when he reaches for his phone, on a small wooden table, next to his smokes. he should smoke after this, yes. he’d like to smoke with buddy.
“hey, uh, buddy’s there? ... send him in. no — yeah, i’m good. swear it, mate. send him in. alright. yeah. alright, buh-bye.” he would be seeing rick later that night, schedule stuff — but hopefully he’ll be seeing buddy first.